House of Cards
by Orodruin
Summary: The Third Hokage wasn't entirely sure what he had done that was so horrible to curse him with a rambunctious little boy he couldn't understand at all. One day, Asuma would be the death of him.
1. Earmuffs

House of Cards

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't even own a pair of earmuffs, so I certainly don't own _Naruto_.

I always thought Asuma was rather interesting, especially with his apparently estranged relationship with Sarutobi. And he seemed like he might have been a lot of fun when he was a kid. So, I give you a collection of short glimpses into the lives of our good Sarutobis. They had some good times before everything fell apart... it's mostly just fun so far. Hope you like it!

Chapter 1 – Earmuffs

At four years old, Sarutobi was positive his youngest son was possessed by a demon. Asuma was a running (rarely did he walk) disaster that even his students couldn't keep up with (not that all of them tried that hard).

The Sandaime Hokage looked up suddenly as the door of his office slammed open and that little abomination he'd somehow helped create entered with all the grace of a devastating thunder storm. The boy ran to his side, tiny hands immediately gripping the arm rest on his chair as he rambled on about something or another—his rushed words completely incomprehensible to his father.

It wasn't until the door slammed open a second time and an irate young woman stormed in that clues began to piece themselves together. Asuma's brown eyes widened to the size of tea saucers and he grabbed the first thing he could reach from Sarutobi's desk—which was, unfortunately, the large, triangular hat which the Hokage had set aside in the warm weather.

"I'm going to murder you, you little twerp!" The woman squealed shrilly. Sarutobi didn't like to guess, but the reason for her anger no doubt had something to do with the way her shirt was soaked down the front, the odd angles her hair was sticking out at, and the odd brownish-gray gunk splattered up her legs.

"I didn't do nothing!" Asuma shouted back, lobbing the hat at the woman in such a sloppy manner that Sarutobi wondered if his son would ever manage to become a shinobi. The hat, predictably, fell short, and the Sandaime could only sigh as papers went flying from his desk due to the quick removal of the object that had been sitting on top of them.

The fact that it didn't hit her did nothing to take the edge off the woman's anger and she held her hands in front of her in a manner that suggested the child's death would be caused by asphyxiation. She ran forward and the four-year-old yelped fearfully, darting around to the other side of his father's desk as the woman ran around the one.

"Dad! Help!" He yelped in terror—but one glance at the weary man was enough to tell him he wasn't going to get it, so the boy took off out of the room in a flash, his pursuer right behind him, the wind of their passing causing even more papers to flutter off of the Hokage's desk.

"Come back here, you little toad!" The woman cried fiercely as she raced after him to the door.

"Tsunade," Sarutobi interrupted tiredly, causing the woman to pause reluctantly, looking back at him with narrowed eyes and a cross scowl that threatened bodily harm should he try and stop her. The man sighed, "Don't scare him too much, he's only a little boy."

"Oh, I'm going to do _more_ than scare him!" The woman replied scathingly, "I'll make sure that's the last time _he_ steals one of my bras!"

Sarutobi stared dumbly after her, wondering what in the world his four-year-old son could be doing with Tsunade's bras. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he slowly rose from his chair and set about the arduous task of picking up his paperwork.

Hunkering down to work again, it wasn't difficult for the Third Hokage to drift off to sleep, with visions of tiny Asumas wearing gigantic bras as earmuffs plaguing his mind. He was almost thankful when, an hour later, a light, tickling sensation persuaded him to wake. The man was quick to dip his brush into a bottle of ink and affix his signature to the bottom of a scroll with a flourish, blowing on it to dry as the door opened once more.

"Hard at work, as always, sensei," the young, white-haired man commented as he stepped inside, "You should get out sometime, get some rest and fresh air!"

Sarutobi raised an eyebrow at his student, and gestured widely to his stacks of paperwork, "Are you volunteering, Jiraiya?"

The man was quick to shake his head, arms crossing, "No way! I'm a free spirit—wasn't made for paperwork!" (Sarutobi was mournfully reminded of the pitiful excuses for mission reports that Jiraiya always managed to turn in a month late and sopping wet.) "You should ask 'Maru, it'd be good practice for him, anyway, since we _all know_ you're going to pick him as the Fourth." Jiraiya rolled his eyes at this, muttering something like, "Although why you'd pick a jerk with a kunai shoved up his—"

"I suppose you're too busy, either way," Sarutobi interrupted, smiling faintly (because some things never changed). "I see you're hard at work on the last mission I assigned you. Where is Asuma, anyway?"

The white-haired man grinned unrepentantly, the red marks down either cheek curving happily along with the expression, "You can't blame me if I don't know! I was watching him, just like you said, when all of a sudden Tsunade started chasing us around, yelling and screaming, like always"—here he rolled his eyes again—"Anyway, we decided to split up and meet back up outside the bath house, but the brat never showed up." He shrugged.

Sarutobi frowned, a suspicious glint entering his eyes. "Jiraiya," he started coolly, "Have you been sending Asuma to steal Tsunade's... clothes for you?"

Jiraiya's whole face frowned in befuddlement, "Eh? Clothes? What kinda clothes, sensei?"

A light blush dusting his cheeks, Sarutobi replied blithely, "You know what kind of clothes."

The light haired nin appeared to be thinking hard for a long moment, then his eyes widened in apparent understanding. "Sensei! You wound me!" He cried dramatically, "To think that you would accuse me, the Honorable Jiraiya, of such a horrible thing! I would _never_ use someone else to steal my dear Tsunade-hime's melon baskets!"

A large sweat drop formed on the side of the Third's head. He really had no idea where the boy got it from, such ridiculous metaphors. Shaking his head sadly, he opened his mouth to reply when his door was opened for the third time that day—this time far more gently than the times preceding it.

Student and teacher turned to look. Orochimaru stood in the doorway, face as impassive as always despite the wayward mess his hair had become. Under his left arm he held a flailing four-year-old boy, and to his right stood Tsunade, wearing a definite pout and glaring at said four-year-old.

Completely ignoring the woman, the young man stepped inside, and quickly deposited the flailing boy on the floor with a thud. "I believe _this_ is yours, sensei," he stated derisively. Without even pausing for an answer he continued, "Jiraiya, Hatake's just come in with news from the front. You'll want to hear it."

And without further words, the man turned abruptly and walked out of the room, Tsunade in tow.

Jiraiya stared after him for a moment before crouching down in front of the four-year-old, grinning. "So, did you get the stuff?"

Asuma eyed him warily for a moment before smirking, "Yep."

The white-haired nin's grin widened and his eyebrows raised suggestively, "So, give it to me!"

"Can't," Asuma replied, his own grin wider.

Jiraiya's smile faltered, "What do you mean, you can't?"

"Threw 'em in a tree," Asuma replied proudly.

The man's smile was completely gone now, a scowl replacing it as his face heated up in anger, "You little..."

The four-year-old yelped at the growl and he raced past the man to his father's side, gripping the man's arm rest again while looking anxiously across at the white-haired nin. Sarutobi raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you have someplace to go, Jiraiya?" The Third questioned.

Jiraiya scowled at the boy for a moment longer before grumbling and slinking out of the room. Asuma beamed up at his father and was about to run off again when the man stopped him.

"Son," Sarutobi started, waiting half a second (which was as long as he dared to wait around the high-strung four-year-old) before continuing, "I think it's time we had a little talk."

Asuma blinked at him blankly.

"You see," the Third began, "While I understand there is temptation in Jiraiya's words, Tsunade's bras are her own property and, besides which, she could smash a little boy like you into jelly without even—" Sarutobi looked back down at his son only to break off, blinking in surprise to find that the little boy was no longer there.

The Sandaime sighed, turning back to his paperwork. There was something wrong with that boy, he had no doubt. After all, his elder daughter had never been such a handful (and the Third was positive such thinking was not due to his getting old, because, really, he wasn't even fifty, and was relatively _young_ compared to the council elders).


	2. Lizard

House of Cards

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_, although I did once catch a lizard and keep it in an aquarium for a while.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I'm glad there are people out there who like this... even if Asuma _isn't_ really in the spotlight anymore. Just in case my gag doesn't work as well as I think it does and I only wound up butchering the Japanese language... then I apologize ahead of time. I thought it was amusing, at least, and I hope you'll like it, as well.

Chapter 2 – Lizard

At five years old, Sarutobi—along with his students, assistants, the council, and just about every shinobi who ever reported in at the Hokage Tower—was relieved that at long last Asuma had started at the Academy. It had been extremely hard for the Hokage to resist the temptation of granting his son permission to join early—something that required a parent's signature as well as that of the Hokage, which would, coincidentally, be one and the same in his case—but he'd waited it out as long as he could and was enjoying the relative stress free days that ensued.

It was three months into the boy's first year when Asuma came back acting extremely strange. Sarutobi knew something was wrong the moment the boy entered his office; quietly and with none of his usual bravado. The boy had then proceeded to walk around to the side of his desk, clutching his arm rest, as usual, and stare up at him with some strange expression on his face.

Sarutobi dealt with this in his usual manner when one of his children's habits perplexed him. He ignored it for as long as he could. But Asuma just stood there longer. Staring.

At length, the Hokage broke down and turned to his son, eyebrows raised in question. "Is there something you need, Asuma?" He asked, very calmly.

The boy shook his head and continued to stare. A little unsettled, Sarutobi returned to his work, more determined to ignore the boy's strange behavior.

At length, the boy's face scrunched up and he shook his head, turning away. Without a word he began to walk towards his door. Sarutobi knew he should just let it go, but his curiosity got the better of him and he called out.

"Son?" The boy paused. "What was that all about?"

The boy turned back to him, frowning. "I don't really get it," he admitted, the strange expression on his face as he looked at him again, "But sensei said you were the tokage." The lines on Asuma's face deepened, "You don't _look_ like a tokage, dad."

A smile tugged at the corners of the man's lips, "I think you mean _Hokage_, Asuma."

The boy frowned at him a moment longer, then shook his head again, "No, he said tokage, dad."

"Asuma, I'm pretty sure your sensei said Hokage," the Sandaime attempted to correct again.

The boy crossed his arms, frowning. "You don't know, 'cause you weren't there, dad," he pointed out balefully, "Sensei said tokage."

The Sandaime Hokage just sighed, letting the matter go, "I don't know why your sensei would have called me a tokage."

The five-year-old just snorted, "It makes more sense than saying hokage, dad. That's not even _alive_."

"Asuma," the Third started tiredly. "In this village, we call the shinobi who is the leader of our village a Hokage," he explained, only to look up and find that the boy was gone.

The man let out another sigh—what he really needed was a way to tie the boy down, at least until he was through talking to him. Unfortunately, his wife disapproved of using Jutsu on the children.

* * *

The next few weeks were a bit trying for the Third Hokage of Konoha. Every time he left his office the confused stares of young children would follow him, no doubt having spoken with his son. Rumors spread quickly in the Village Hidden in the Leaves and it didn't take long for the name to make its way into shinobi ranks.

On one particular occasion, Sarutobi was briefing his Jounin on the ever-increasing violence on the borders. He really should have been expecting something—his own students were being far too well-behaved, but as the briefing drew to a close without incident, he allowed himself to relax a little. It was then that he heard it.

"You know," Jiraiya was saying to Sakumo, and just about anyone else who would listen to him, "If you tilt your head just a _little_ to the left and squint one eye, he _does_ kind of _look_ like a tokage."

Tsunade snorted on laughter, clearly trying to hold it in, and elbowed her white-haired teammate, "Jiraiya! He's right there!"

"I'm serious!" The boisterous young Jounin had insisted, rubbing what was no doubt going to be a very nasty bruise with a small cringe, "Just try it!"

To Sarutobi's consternation, she did. And so did just about every other Jounin in the room—Orochimaru included.

"There is... a certain resemblance," his young protégé conceded.

It was the most ridiculous thing in the world, to have before him some of the brightest and strongest of Konoha's forces indulging themselves in such childish foolishness. The Hokage could barely stand it.

He didn't have the chance to chastise them when the door slammed open—Asuma wasn't wont to knock. The five-year-old paused in the doorway, staring at the strange posture of all the adults.

"What are you all doing?!" He asked in complete confusion.

Jiraiya jumped on the opportunity, "Ne, Asuma-kun, it's just that if you look at your dad kinda like this, he does look a bit like a lizard."

The boy tried it obligingly, his young face twisted into a frown of disbelief as he tilted his head slightly and squinted his eyes. He then scowled up at the white haired man. "Does not," he retorted petulantly, and delivered a sound kick to the man's leg—Jiraiya let out a yelp of surprise and clutched at the injured limb, which would no doubt join his ribs in bruising.

"Dad's the _Hokage_," the five-year-old corrected irritably, "And _that_ means he's _your boss_. And _that_ means, _I'm_ your boss's _son_, and if you keep acting like an idiot I'll fire you!"

Jiraiya's jaw dropped open in surprise—it was one of the few times Sarutobi had seen his verbose student truly speechless—and the other Jounin around him snickered in amusement. Asuma pinned a glare around the rest of the room.

"It's one thing if a kid mistakes a Hokage for a tokage," he stated unhappily, "But adults are supposed to be a lot smarter." Raising his chin, he pushed through the group to his father's desk and added, "Dad, I think they need to go back to school."

The Sandaime's eyes had twinkled in amusement at his son's thorough scolding of his shinobi force, thinking that maybe the boy would make a good shinobi someday, after all. "Perhaps they do," he agreed sagely, eyeing the Jounin with a look that implied he would make good on the prospect if they gave him a reason to.

"I think it would be a good idea if you Jounin report to your duties," he advised, amusement still thick in his voice, "And I don't want to hear anything more about lizards from any of you for a _very_ long time."

As the Jounin disappeared, some mumbling unconvincing apologies on their way out, Asuma looked up at his dad with something like wonder for the very first time. "You're a really good Hokage, dad," he proclaimed proudly.

Sarutobi couldn't help but smile, his pleasure from the simple compliment coming from the mouth of his own son far greater than that he'd ever perceived at the eloquent compliments of politicians and foreign representatives.


	3. Older

House of Cards

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own Asuma, the Sandaime, or any intellectual property of _Naruto_.

Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews, I'm glad my joke came across okay in the last chapter... not much in the way of joking here, although I still think it's amusing. Anyway, I look forward to hearing what you think.

Chapter 3 – Older

"Dad!" Asuma's face, still rounded with baby fat at six, was red with anger when he burst into his father's office.

Sarutobi bit back a curse as his brush jerked in surprise, drawing a black line across the document he'd been composing. He frowned, looking up to meet his son's eyes.

"Asuma," he started sternly, anger leaking into his voice—the boy _knew better_ than to burst in like that!

Asuma interrupted recklessly, his dark eyes boring into his father's as he slammed small hands onto the man's desk, fingers splayed. His entire face only barely stood over the edge of the desk. "I'm a good shinobi, aren't I?!"

Sarutobi's frown twitched a little deeper. "Of course you are, Asuma," he forced himself to grind out, "But you can't—"

"I'm the son of the Hokage!" Asuma added irately, "I'm probably the best damn shinobi in my class!"

"Asuma, _language_," the Sandaime admonished disapprovingly. It was impossible to shield his son from language like that considering that he was constantly surrounded by the coarse men and women who fought to protect their village, but the boy didn't have to run around repeating every inappropriate word he heard. "And I think that—"

"How come _I_ didn't get promoted to Genin, dad?" The boy demanded, interrupting yet again.

Sarutobi blinked, then frowned again. "Asuma—you're six-years-old."

"So?" The boy demanded, "I'm big for my age. Besides, I'm older than _him_ and _he_ gets to be a Genin!"

"Him?" The Sandaime repeated with confusion. He shuffled through the papers on his desk as he waited for his son's reply—his report on the new graduates had to be around somewhere, but he hadn't had the chance to read it yet.

"_Kakashi_," Asuma supplied, growling the name, his face turning even redder. "Why did you make _him_ a Genin and not _me_?! I'm way cooler than _him_! Besides, he's a jerk! He barely talks to anyone and even _sensei_ doesn't like him 'cause he corrects him in front of the class!"

Kakashi—the name was immediately familiar to the Hokage and he knew he'd heard it before, but he didn't recall where, exactly. Whatever the case, he didn't envy the young Genin-hopeful for having incurred the wrath of his son.

"Asuma," he started tiredly, "I don't know what you're talking about. Who is Kakashi?"

The boy looked at him incredulously, "You made him a Genin and you don't even know who he _is_!"

The old man smiled a little. "I don't decide on the Academy graduates, Asuma... Students who pass a series of tests are graduated to Genin—as Hokage, I don't have much say on the issue. Not until the candidates come before me for a final review, at least."

Asuma did not appear appeased. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at his father. "Then tell him he can't be a Genin!" He demanded irritably, "When he has his final review. You can't let him be a ninja before me!"

"Son," Sarutobi started carefully, "I think you're a little confused... students don't graduate until they're at _least_ nine years old—you still have a few years to go before you'll be ready for that."

"So he doesn't get to graduate," Asuma surmised, his shoulders relaxing a little.

"Who?" His father asked again in exasperation.

"Kakashi!" Asuma said again, scowling, "Hatake Kakashi! He's in my class, remember? He's the tiny one!"

Understanding finally dawned on the Hokage and he leaned back in his chair. Sakumo had petitioned him the preceding year to have his son, only four at the time, entered early. Sarutobi had been reluctant, but the prodigy could already throw a kunai and write more legibly than his own son, so he hadn't found reason to refuse. Still, the boy was very young—how could Asuma possibly think Kakashi was graduating?

Turning his attention back to his son, he repeated his question out loud.

Asuma tapped once on his desk, frowning thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "This morning sensei said we would all have a few days off from classes because the new Genin were going to be using the Academy for some special training. Except he said _Kakashi_ would have to go, because he scored really high on the test we took last week."

The six-year-old scowled again, "I bet he cheated—_I _took the same test, and it was really hard. Sensei hasn't even _taught_ us most of that stuff."

"He _passed_ the test?" Sarutobi repeated with disbelief, returning to search for the file he'd received from the Academy two days ago and had been meaning to review ever since. "Asuma, are you sure that's what your sensei said?"

The boy nodded, frowning suspiciously. "He isn't _really_ going to be a Genin, is he, dad? Not before me—right? I'm older!"

"Asuma, Genin aren't graduated based on their ages," the Sandaime said mildly, "They graduate students when they've learned everything the Academy has to offer them, which may be sooner for some children then others."

"But that's not fair!" Asuma exclaimed, "He _can't_ have learned everything! He's only been in the Academy a year—same as me!"

"Yes," the man muttered distractedly, finally locating the off-white folder near the bottom of a stack of papers. Frowning in concentration, he gave the edge of the folder a sharp jerk. The stack fell neatly down on the empty space that presented itself and Sarutobi allowed a small smile of satisfaction before opening the folder.

The paper he was looking for was conveniently placed at the very top of the small stack he uncovered. Test results for one Hatake Kakashi, class 1-A, age five. Sarutobi had to read it three times to be sure he wasn't imagining things.

He looked up—Asuma was no longer standing across his desk, instead the young boy was at his elbow, hands gripping his armrest and a small frown creasing his forehead as he peered over his arm at the report.

"What's that?" The boy asked.

"The test results," Sarutobi supplied. "It seems Kakashi has passed the initial examinations."

Asuma scowled, "So he _is_ going to be a Genin! Dad—you promised—"

"I didn't promise anything," Sarutobi cut in sharply, frowning, "Whether Kakashi becomes a Genin this year or not will depend entirely on his performance. I'm not going to hold him back just because you're embarrassed that someone younger than you graduated before you. If that's the case, you can just work harder next year."

"But I'll never be able to graduate if sensei doesn't teach us the answers to the test!" Asuma exclaimed indignantly, "How'd he get to know them, anyway? He's in the same class as me and I'm sure sensei didn't say half of that stuff!"

The Sandaime was sure, as well, but he wasn't going to tell his son. "Kakashi probably studies a lot outside of classes."

The look on the six-year-old's face was one of complete shock—as though the very idea was so completely foreign it had never crossed his young brain.

Sarutobi smiled fondly at the boy and reached out to ruffle his hair. The action broke the boy out of his daze, and he scowled, flattening down his mussed spikes.

"Why don't you go play?" The man suggested gently, "You'll have plenty of time to become a Genin later. Once you become a shinobi, you'll never be able to be a little boy anymore. You should take advantage of it while you can."

Asuma frowned seriously at him for a long moment before turning to leave. "I'm going to find Jiraiya," he announced, "I bet _he'll_ tell me the answers to the test if I tell him where Tsunade moved her underwear to."

Sarutobi sighed and wondered why little boys always wanted to be older than they really were.


End file.
